


Anchor

by Llama_and_Lion



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dont know how to tag this, Drabble, Friendship, Insecurity, Pre-Relationship, its better than the description I promise, post-GPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:57:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8975026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama_and_Lion/pseuds/Llama_and_Lion
Summary: He only notices, when there are no more words left in him and his throat feels a little hoarse that Otabek has moved closer, hardly noticeable to anyone not looking for it but somewhere in the last forty minutes Otabek had made maybe only a few inches movement but a giant leap in familiarity.





	

The suits collar feels too tight around his neck in the stuffy ball room. Suits have never fitted Yuri well, his own had been especially made to fit his tall slim frame, yet the fabric still stretched taught over his sharp angular shoulders and hips. Also, suits weren't 'cool'. Yakov however insisted he wore it because that was the etiquette, even though Yuri though that the rules were pretty outdated and just plain dumb.

There had been a constant heavy flow of competitors and investors congratulating him on his victory for what felt like hours. Retuning their good intentions with a forced, thin lipped smile and strained 'thank you's was about as much as he could manage.

Yuri hated this part, the formalities, the small talk, he felt like he might explode if so much as one more person mentioned the fact that he had "made history". Those words along with all the other niceties made him squirm.

All of that had died down somewhat now, everyone more content to mill about and mingle with the other skaters and coaches. Celastino and Yakov were chuckling over drinks in a corner, too far away for Yuri to hear what was so funny.

Chris was pulling Victor round the dance-floor in an upbeat quickstep while Victor laughed as he struggled to match his pace. Yuri envied how gracefully Chris composed himself off the ice as well as on. The muscles in his back showed against his jacket as he turned Victor one way and the other, he filled his suit and it looked _good_ on him for christs sake. Then again Chris seemed comfortable in whatever he was wearing. Yuri might be confident on the ice, but off? He preferred to hide under baggy jumpers and skinny jeans that weren't really skinny, not on him anyway.

Across the room stood the katsudon with Pitchet who was talking animatedly. Yuuri seemed to be smiling and nodding in the right places but his eyes were fixed on Victor. Yuri could see him twisting the ring on his finger and guessed that he probably wasn't a conscious thing.

Yuri slumped up against the wall letting his hair fall over his eyes, no one was paying him much attention anymore and he would prefer it stayed that way until Yakov decided it was time to leave. He clutches the glass in his hands, it's a kind of sparkling orange juice with a sour aftertaste. It's stupid, and he wonders if he could slip away without anyone noticing...

"Hey," Yuri looks up only to find Otabek in front of him, his arm outstretched, "You did very well on the ice today Yurio." And Yuri is fucking grateful that it's not congratulations, but keeps a straight face as he grasps Otabek's hand in a firm handshake.  
"And you were robbed." He states. Their hands are still locked between them when the corner of Otabek's mouth twitches ever so slightly and Yuri can't stop himself from laughing at his "oh so serious" expression.

It's like the tension has left his body and he grins widely up at his friend and relaxes back against the wall, releasing his hand in the process. Otabek shrugs and turns to stand next to Yuri so they are both facing out into the room.  
"There is always the next competition," Otabek muses, there is a certain hum to his voice whenever he speaks and fuck it's soothing all the knots out of Yuri's tired muscles faster than a hot bath.  
"Well you'd better be kicking the Canadian off the podium, I'd prefer to be be stood next to you in future," and Yuri's throat goes a little dry and is glad his hair covers his blushing cheeks. Beka chuckles softly and it's like music to Yuri as the older boy bumps their shoulders together.  
"Yes I would like that very much too,"

They let that hang between them in comfortable silence, watching their competitors socialise and enjoy the evening. Neither boy really fits in this room full of well dressed skaters and rich investors, all able to strike up a conversation with ease or make small talk with strangers. Though, Otabek does stand tall and confident and looks fucking _good_ in that suit. Yuri feels suddenly small, like an outsider looking in, and his skin crawls where the fabric touches it and the room is too loud and the lights are too bright and...  
"When do you go back to St.Petersberg?" ...Otabeks voice pierces though all the noise and grounds him. An anchor holding its ship in place as the storm rages inside of him. His knuckles are white around the champagne flute and it's a miracle that it hasn't shattered. Yuri lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, and puts the glass down on the table next to them.  
"Soon, a...a few days I think," It's stupid that the words don't come out right the first time. He balls his hands into fists to stop them from trembling. Otabek hums in acknowledgment. The silence stretches out between them once more and Yuri finds himself desperately searching for words to end it because he needs to fill it up with, something. But the words don't come or let his lips wrap around them and spit them out. They lie bubbling in his throat, jostling to get themselves in order but none of them seem right. Then, Otabek comes to his rescue.  
"Are you looking forward to going home?" He asks and Yuri's words come out like a waterfall filling up the empty space between them, right now Yuri needs words to suppress his jittering anxieties. Otabek listens with intensive interest (because everything that Otabek does is intense) as Yuri rattles on about the rink in St. Petersburg and how he is looking forward to seeing his cat again. He talks about his grandpa and the piroshki he makes and that he hopes Yakov will let him go and stay with his Grandpa whilst he is training. He talks about continuing his studies in Russian literature alongside his skating and his hopes to take his exams next year (so long as they don't clash with the European championships) and all the while Beka listens and nods in the right places and the edges of his lips upturn a fraction into his version of a smile. All the while Yuri is talking he focuses on the words, how they sound, how they feel at they leave his throats and travel across his lips because words are his salvation, and his means of escaping the crowded room, just for a little while.

He only notices, when there are no more words left in him and his throat feels a little hoarse that Otabek has moved closer, hardly noticeable to anyone not looking for it but somewhere in the last forty minutes Otabek had made maybe only a few inches movement but a giant leap in familiarity. Yuri imagines he can feel the warmth coming off of the Khazak boy but instead of feeling concern or discomfort it feels, natural, calming.

Yuri swallows "Sorry, I must be boring you," and hides his blush behind his hair once more.

It comes out of nowhere, one moment Yuri is hidden the next Otabek is tucking his hair behind his ear and it's all Yuri can do to stop himself from jumping six foot in the air.

"Beka! What are you doing?" Swiping Otabek's hand away more in surprise than alarm. The hand drops away again and he looks serious (always so serious).

"I like to hear you talk," he states. Yuri bites down on his lip to hold back a snappy retort but Otabek continues, "and I like you look at you, Yuri Plisetsky. The skater with the soldiers eyes,"

Yuri can feel the blush creeping into his cheeks even as he says,  
"I bet you tell all the skaters that," he hopes to pull it off as a joke, though Otabek's words sit like a stone in his chest. But the older boys face remains serious as he holds Yuri's gaze.

"I don't see the point in muddying my words. Why wrap up true meanings in riddles that may be misinterpreted when you can just say things as they are?" And to be honest, Otabek has a point, but still this probably wasn't the right time or place for wearing your heart on your sleeve. Yuri holds the eye contact between them a few seconds more before backing down because Otabek is just so god damn serious. He almost jumps out of his skin when a hand is placed gently on his upper arm. From afar the gesture probably looks friendly and platonic to everyone else. The touch is tender and burns Yuri's skin through the stupid suit. Otabek is smiling, both corner of his lips pointing skywards oh so slightly, barely noticeable, and the fact that it never reaches his eyes makes the moment unbearable.

"Yurio, I understand." And Yuri feels like he might melt into an inconvenient puddle on the dance floor. And there are the words again, threatening to boil over and ruin everything.

"I..." but before the words can come tumbling out a booming voice bellows.

"Yuri! My boy! Are you enjoying the party?" And Yakov appears seemingly from thin air, the tension dissipating as the two young skaters take a step back from one another. The coach gives no time for Yuri to give an answer. Yakov is clearly tipsy.  
"Yuri, change of plan my boy, we fly back to Russia tomorrow now. You have been invited to perform at a government event! I accepted for you it's not the kind of opportunity you turn down you see! Ah, no rest for the wicked eh?" Yakov laughs. Yuri cringes. "Anyway it's late. Go pack your things and get a good nights rest, yes? All good things Yuri, all good things." Yakov has a hold on Yuri's shoulder ready to guide him away. Yuri expects he won't have the chance to say goodbye to everyone, he doesn't mind that much, he doesn't care about them. Only...

"Otabek," he holds out his hand. The other boy studies it for a fraction of a second before taking it and shaking it firmly, all the while their gazes firmly locked together.

"Yuri," and then without warning, Yakov begins to steer the young Russian skater towards the door. Yuri can still feel Otabek's hand in his, it's shape, warmth, strong and steady. He looks back over his shoulder to see Otabek watching him go. He raises a hand and waves slightly before making a phone sign with his hands with an expression that reads 'call me?', and Yuri grins back at him.

This is going to be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Yuri on Ice fic I hope that you liked it! English is not my first language so if you spot any mistake please feel free to point them out :)
> 
> Find me on tumblr @laneboyheathens


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